


like a hand, you reached out to me

by poalimal



Series: sam/bucky drabbles [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America Sam Wilson, Dissociation, Drabble, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: Bucky came out of the motel bathroom still steaming, a thoughtful look on his face. 'I'm thinking of taking up yoga.'
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: sam/bucky drabbles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385680
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	like a hand, you reached out to me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Beach House's song Troublemaker.

Bucky came out of the motel bathroom still steaming, a thoughtful look on his face. No more hot water, then. 'I'm thinking of taking up yoga.'

On the bed, Sam was staring up at the ceiling, counting the popcorn pockmarks. _I'm thinking of quitting_. The TV was on. He sat up a little and pretended to watch. His eyes dragged down Bucky's back anyway. 'Oh?'

'Yea.' Before his shower, Bucky had laid his outfit out on the bed - he now seemed to be reconsidering which black shirt and black jeans to wear. 'Heard it's good for stress relief.' He kept talking, but after a while Sam could no longer hear him.

He was   
so very -   
so-very-tired 

of living   
out of a suitcase.

* * *

His mind began to scrunch up around the shape of Bucky's voice; for a moment he went blank. 

* * *

\--Bucky, he noticed belatedly, had turned away from his suitcase, and was staring at him. 

Sam tried not to look at him too closely. 'Well,' he said, swallowing a sigh. 'I hope you find... relief.'

There wasn't much space between their beds. Only a few steps and Bucky was at his bed, on his bed, on his right sitting up against the headboard.  
  
'You and your mumbling,' Bucky said. Sam turned over on his side, staring up at him. 

_I don't mumble_ , he thought to himself; _do I?_

Bucky looked back with a cloud on his face. 'What's the pillow smell like?' he asked, finally. 

Sam blinked. Pushed his face into the pillow - flatly unsupportive after years of overuse - and sniffed. The pillowcase smelled of coconut-scented hair grease (from his head) and antique tobacco (from countless bodies).

'Softee,' Sam decided, 'and old cigarettes.'

'Mm.' The springs squeaked: Bucky stretching out on the bed beside him. The remote he took up in his hand to turn the TV off. And Sam could hear, now, the lone rush of a car streaming by on the road. 'What's the ceiling look like?'

Sam paused. 'A mesothelioma... class action lawsuit,' he decided.

Bucky laughed. His left hand tangled and twined in Sam's right, the vibranium cool and soothing and solid beneath his palm; between his fingers. The rest of him warm and damp and dressed in only a towel. 'How's that feel?' 

Sam had been on the other side of this enough times to recognise that Bucky was trying to ground him... to pull him out of his head and back into his body. 

In some ways he wished Bucky didn't know him so well, or that he didn't know Bucky so well; he wished Bucky had ignored him and went to bed, or just went to bed with him and ignored him.

But Bucky did know him. And he was not alone. 

He squeezed Bucky's hand and nodded. He could not speak. 

_Feels safe_.


End file.
